Insomnia
by One Who Hunts
Summary: A collection of random 2010 based drabbles in no particular order. Some mild, some graphic.
1. Insomnia

**Disclaimer: I do not own A Nightmare On Elm Street. **

**A/N: Trying new styles, failing at them. But hey, I gave it a shot. By the way, I am the author of "The Beginning Of The End" just under a new pen name. **

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><p><em>Tick tock, tick tock…<em>

The sound of the clock seemed to magnify by thousands in the silence. It echoed in the room. It was almost like it was mocking her. She knew she had been up for way too long. She wasn't going to last much longer… No, not like this.

She frantically paced a hole in her carpet. She couldn't remember the number of hours she'd managed to keep her eyes open. She could hardly remember her address anymore. But trying to pinpoint her location in her hometown of Spingwood was most definitely the least of her problems.

_Stay awake, stay awake, stay awake!_

The coffee was not helping. The energy drinks were not helping. The alarms on her phone were not helping and the inviting idea of letting her eyelids flutter shut for oh, just a second was certainly _not helping._

As she walked past, she caught her reflection in the mirror. Her face was drained of all color, making the dark circles around her eyes only more noticeable. Her hair was limp and greasy, when was the last time she took a shower? She couldn't remember. She didn't want to risk it.

She slapped herself and continued to pace. Back and forth, back and forth. She stared down at her feet, trying to focus on anything she could. With her pupils directed to the floor, she was completely oblivious to what was around her.

"SHIT!"

She crashed to the ground with the canvas she had run into. She didn't move for a moment, trying to collect herself. It was almost _symbolic._ She was sprawled out in a clutter on the ground, kind of like her thoughts. Where was that cup of coffee she was drinking earlier? She sure as hell could use it right now...

She groaned and sat herself up. She stole a glance at what she had sketched earlier. The charcoal stained her fingers as she ran them over the markings she had furiously scribbled at. They were his markings; his trademark. She had scars just like those, but she hadn't acquired them in her nightmares. No, she had had them forever. Where _did _they come from? And where the fuck was her mother?

She forced herself to her feet. She couldn't think straight. She couldn't stay cramped in her room anymore. Maybe laps around the house would help… Surely they would keep her awake.

But as she tore open her bedroom door and the smell of gas filled her nose, the orange tinted steam fogged up her vision and the heat hit her like a ton of bricks, she almost lost it. She was dreaming. And nobody was around to wake her up.

She felt him behind her, but she didn't dare turn around.

"_Hello, Little Nancy…"_

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><p><strong>AN: I was trying to give it that rushed, my thoughts are getting creepy, what is going on feeling. I purposely left out her name to begin with for some unknown reason but I like it that way. Just an experiment. **


	2. Miserable

**A/N: I've decided to turn my drabble "Insomnia" into a story full of random drabbles. They will be in no order, following no story line. I probably won't update regularly, just when a new idea pops into my head. I tend to write more drabbles than stories, anyway. They're crap but they won't leave me alone until they're written and posted.**

**This one was actually written half from my point of view (not about watching people be killed or being raped but the 'this life i've been condemned to' parts) and that made it pretty simple to write. Felt good to get it off my chest.**

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><p>I'll just have to figure out how to cope with miserable.<p>

Because I am thoroughly convinced nothing is going to improve from this point on.

I don't know what I did to deserve this pathetic excuse for a life, but I endure it. Never having a conversation by day, only receiving death threats and wounds by night. Karma seems to neglect me; I do all the proper things. I've never done drugs, I've never broken the law and I always lend a hand to those in need. But that doesn't seem to be sufficient.

Occasionally, I wonder that if I do the wrong things, I'll get rewarded. If I sleep around, abuse people, and care for nobody but myself, I might just get an acceptable result. It seems to work for everyone else. I wouldn't be Freddy's "innocent" Little Nancy, and maybe he'd get bored. Maybe he would grow weary of sharing my body with the other strangers. He might just forget about me and throw me away, thus proving that nice people really _do_ finish last.

Either that or he would run his blades through my flesh… Which, in this moment, is also a very welcomed option.

But I'm sure he knows. I'm sure he just keeps me around because watching me suffer and die a little more inside every night is _so_ much more satisfactory than physically killing me. Being alive is a hell in itself and death is a state I plead for but I know won't be granted. No… that's just too easy.

So I'll just have to figure out how to cope with miserable.

I've considered ending it all myself. Swallowing an abundance of pills, hanging myself, putting a bullet in my head. And believe you me, if I wasn't so afraid of eternally landing myself a spot in _his _world, I would've done it in a heartbeat. And that heartbeat would still and I would be free of him.

I'm the only one now. He leaves Quentin alone, mostly because I've distanced myself from him. Sometimes he tries to remind me that I once loved him (and still do), but I know that if ever Krueger was to find out, Quentin was a goner. And I would not be responsible for his death, no matter how much it pained me to watch my rejection squash his blooming hopes. I refuse to witness him be tortured, sliced, burned, hung, stabbed and whatever else Krueger might have in mind, like I've observed him do to many others.

I've become immune to it all. Nothing surprises me.

I am not shocked as he pins me down on his bed.

It is nothing new when I hear him unzip his pants.

And I am used to waking up soaked in my own blood.

I can't tell you what satanic pact my ancestors must've made to condemn me to this. All I know is that it's useless to hope, wish and pray for anything better. Because nothing I do or say will _ever _change Krueger or (if there even is one) God's mind.

And I'll just have to figure out how to cope with miserable.


	3. Beating

She stays still, unmoving.

His claws gently run through her hair, mocking her.

_He's won._

(But she won't admit it.)

She tries to shove it all to the hindmost section of her mind.

He manipulates the realms of her sanity and forces it back to the front.

_He has control._

(But she pretends she doesn't already know that.)

She puts on a fearless face for her day in the waking world.

He barks orders and she no longer has the energy to act unafraid.

_He embeds terror in her system._

(And she can't do a damn thing about it.)

She is quiet, obeying, and submissive.

He is violent, dominant, and aggressive.

_He's killed her._

(But her heart's still beating.)


	4. Safe and Sound

**A/N: This piece of writing is based on the beautiful song by (I really hate to say it) Taylor Swift & The Civil Wars, Safe and Sound. I don't like Taylor, but this song for the Hunger Games is truly amazing. When it began to talk about night, I instantly related it to Nightmare on Elm Street.**

**This takes place years after Freddy, however his memory still continues to haunt their minds.  
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**Disclaimer: I do not own "Safe and Sound" or Nightmare on Elm Street.**

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><p>Quentin gazed out of the window in his kitchen. The night sky nearly matched the cold coffee that sat upon his counter.<p>

He sucked in a deep breath and turned to find Nancy doing the same as he just was. She was sitting, legs up, on their couch, a blank expression on her face. He sighed out the air he had been holding in his lungs; this was a usual occurrence.

With careful steps he approached her. She didn't show any reaction when he sat down beside her, just continued to observe the world outside, which had settled down for tonight. Nevertheless, he kept his eyes glued on her.

With a trembling lip, she finally turned her head to look at him. She didn't speak but he knew; it was a wordless conversation.

Quentin's eyes scanned over her form, resting on the scars Krueger had given her in a convenient store as teenagers, before snapping back to her blue orbs.

He merely blinked then stood. She grabbed his hand as he attempted to walk away, causing him to pause. With pleading eyes and a fearful voice, she uttered, "Don't leave me here alone."

Pursing his lips, he tugged on her hand and urged her to come along. She apprehensively lifted herself from the couch and followed as he led her through the doorway of the room she had been avoiding.

Their bedroom wasn't any brighter than the rest of the apartment. Only illuminated by the moon, it took moments before either one could adjust to the lack of light.

Once their vision adapted to the dark, he sat down on the edge of their bed and she reluctantly followed. In an attempt at providing some sort of comfort, he wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders. Nancy stayed still for several, very long moments before leaning into him.

"No one can hurt you now."

He felt her nod and eventually her eyelids fluttered shut. He waited (how long he wasn't sure), until her breathing slowed and her body relaxed before moving.

Come morning light, they would both be safe and sound.


	5. Conflict

**A/N: You know how my breaks are always cursed? EVERY SINGLE BREAK I GET SICK. Oh, but not this Spring break! No, in fact, the day my break was over and I had to haul myself to class I puked my guts out. Awful.**

**I'm not quite sure what to call this. A little poem ish thing? Not sure. I was just trying to not vomit on myself when sentences just popped up into my head.**

**I always imagined that after this little episode, Nancy would become this sort of "dead inside" zombie and Quentin would be all, "No lets put it behind us and live our lives marriage kids im so overly happy for this situation!" and what not. This is pretty much just a look into that. **

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><p>She craves loneliness.<p>

He longs for her attention.

She needs closure.

He wants to move on.

She desires silence.

He embraces the noise.

She desperately yearns for death.

He prays it never comes.


	6. Route

**A/N: Two in one hour. Wow. **

**If I was Nancy Holbrook after the whole Freddy incident, I would take the first train out of Springwood. But something tells me that, no matter where we stick her, she would never be content.**

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><p>Nancy Holbrook <em>hates <em>her route home.

As she leaves her place of work, she only needs to walk a few blocks. But _God_ does she hate it.

She hates the smell of the city. Her small town lungs weren't built for this much pollution.

She hates all the noise; car horns, police sirens and all of the extremely _loud_ foreign accents.

She hates the cold, unfeeling atmosphere. Then again, she hated the warm, intimate feel of her old dwelling.

She hates the people who trample over her, with their eyebrows knit tight and cellphones glued to their ears.

But most of all, she hates_- _no, _loathes, _passing the preschool that sits on a corner. It is usually dismissal time as Nancy Holbrook stalks by, her professional high heels (she hates those too) clicking with every step.

But she can't help but stop for a few moments and stare. Parents come and go, hugging and kissing their young children, and she glares. _How selfish could you be?_ They throw these children headfirst into a cruel world and falsely promise them safety; they would be better off unborn.

It's a routine thought, and she knows just how wrong it is. But it isn't fair to the unsuspecting toddler who gets whisked away into some unfamiliar place, with _pain _and _fear _being the only things they know for certain-

Nancy Holbrook shakes her head; she's being ridiculous.

And with that, her heels begin to click against the pavement as she continues walking.

She hates her route home.


End file.
